


Dreaming Awake

by pantswarrior



Series: The Cultists' Cycle [13]
Category: Vagrant Story
Genre: Bloodplay, Dreams, M/M, Magic, Masochism, Plot What Plot, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-06
Updated: 2010-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-12 11:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sydney takes him by surprise, Hardin can't be sure whether he's awake or still dreaming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming Awake

The first thing he felt upon coming awake was the force of someone pushing him roughly onto his back.

Hardin was a light sleeper for many reasons, the least of which being the better part of a life spent as a soldier; still mostly asleep, his reaction was instinctive. Especially after the dreamed memories he'd only just awakened from, the act of lashing out with one hand to latch on to his attacker seemed appropriate, even before he'd taken the time to open his eyes and see who it was who had assaulted him.

The memories were dispelled quickly enough - he was not bound, he was being shoved down onto something much softer than a hard stone floor, and the hand that caught his wrist before it reached its mark was not warm as flesh should be, but ice cold. Rather than the knife he had expected to be at his throat or his chest, sharp metal edges instead bit into his arm, gently enough that they did not quite draw blood. Still disoriented, he knew that the Sight was clearer than his own vision, and for the split second before his scrying scattered apart due to lack of focus, he saw locks of blond hair, spilling down to cover a smug smile as their owner leaned forward, still gripping his wrist and pushing it back to pin it beside his shoulder.

Lips met his as he began to open his mouth to voice a protest, and a tongue quickly followed. The taste of him was cool and wet, and Hardin couldn't help but struggle against the overwhelming sensation of being drowned in so deep a kiss. It was impossible, however, to come to the surface when he still wasn't sure which way was up, and it was with great difficulty that he managed to choke out a single word when his assailant allowed him to come up for air.

"...Sydney..."

"Ah, so you are awake enough to know who I am." The voice sounded pleased.

"...Barely." By a coincidence, that was also exactly how much control Hardin had to keep himself speaking coherently instead of groaning as he felt Sydney's weight shift, settling suddenly against his groin. For being awake less than perhaps thirty seconds, he found that he'd already achieved a fairly impressive erection. It made him wonder what Sydney might have been doing before he was awakened... and those thoughts only served to arouse him further.

There was a click as the metal that passed for Sydney's right index finger crooked and hooked through the nightshirt Hardin wore, and then a clean ripping sound as he tore a clean line through the fabric from neck to hem, then shoulder to shoulder, leaving him bare to the waist. He imagined he could _feel_ Sydney's eyes on his exposed skin, chilling him like the rain and boring into him hungrily - but then, it might not have been his imagination at all. It might have been Sydney's hands. Both were possessed of an icy sharpness, even if one was not physically tangible, and with his eyes still closed, Hardin could not tell the difference.

Sydney observed this as well. "You've not yet opened your eyes."

"...No need..." The truth in more ways than one.

There was a faint clicking of Sydney's tongue. "Look at me, Hardin."

It was unmistakably a command, and Hardin tried to oblige. The light streaming through the window above their bed was too bright for his tired eyes, however, and he blinked involuntarily, trying to see something beyond the shapeless glare of pale sheets and paler skin and reflective metal tangled together to form something that was not quite recognizable, but could only be Sydney. Closing his eyes, he found the Sight no better, for his consciousness was so close to non-existance that only a great deal of concentration allowed him any intelligible visions at all, and what Sydney did was not allowing him much of that. He could manage short, highly detailed flashes - _the tattooed Rood Inverse as seen from above; a sheet wound loosely around his ankle; a dark eye smirking from behind disheveled blond hair; curls of a slightly darker gold between gleaming thighs_ \- but they fell apart before he could take in the whole. These images he did manage were not helping his concentration either.

Seeing him was not necessary anyhow, and Hardin only mumbled a half-apology as his hands lifted from the sheets where Sydney had left them, finding the slenderness of Sydney's waist easily. His thumbs brushed over the front of Sydney's pelvic bone, clearly felt through the bare skin, and his palms rested upon the smooth expanse of Sydney's hips as he found his grip, digging his fingers in slightly as he pulled him closer. "You... are not making it easy to look at you... one way or another." His breath was not coming easily either, between the shock of his sudden waking, the ruthless kiss that had been pressed against his lips, and the feel of Sydney atop him.

A soft laugh echoed through his head, then vanished into a silent ringing in his ears as Sydney shifted atop him again, moving with the motion of Hardin's hands to a more comfortable position for them both. The mage straddled Hardin's legs almost at the hips, tickling Hardin's arousal where it now nestled at the junction of hip and thigh, pressed lightly against that patch of darker gold he'd seen, but not quite touching anything else just yet. Hardin's grip tightened, and he tried to resist the urge to draw Sydney nearer still.

Sydney's voice broke through the flashes of sensation, a deceptively gentle murmur. "It is no wonder, so deep in slumber you were moments ago. But unlike me, dear Hardin - if both your eyes and your talent fail you, you may look with your hands."

 _And you do not?_ Hardin wondered why he bothered to bite back the question, as Sydney had undoubtedly heard it anyhow. Perhaps because he knew that as much as Sydney _touched_ with those blades, he never truly felt with them. Perhaps because it seemed a rebuke. ...And perhaps because the chill of Sydney's left hand resting upon his chest - this time it was too obviously physical to be mistaken for simply a cold look - five sharp blades pointedly pricking his flesh, had rendered him incapable of speech.

Regardless, his hands did indeed prove to be more than enough to replace the sight of his eyes and his spirit, for he had gazed upon Sydney many times before, memorizing each line and curve of flesh and steel alike. As his fingers grazed over skin and metal, he could envision it perfectly in his mind - the arc of Sydney's neck, the hollow at his collarbone, the slight definition of his chest and stomach. His hands drifted around to stroke at the small of Sydney's back, to the very tip of the tattoo, and felt the muscles flex beneath the tips of his fingers as Sydney took in a soft hissing breath and squirmed in a way that Hardin recognized as well. Placing his hands flat upon Hardin's chest to brace himself, he pushed back against Hardin's caresses like a cat that particularly enjoyed being petted. Though he'd seen and felt it so many times before, Hardin had found that it certainly never grew old, and his own breathing faltered at the dizzying waves of pleasure that came from Sydney's slight motions and the feel of cool metal pressed against both nipples.

The heat between his legs was nearly unbearable, making him dizzier and more disoriented than before, and Sydney must have known, because his breathless voice murmured again, deeper than usual. "So... have you 'looked' enough?"

"Never," Hardin muttered hoarsely between quick breaths, sending his hands lower, cupping the familiar curves and squeezing, almost kneading, his touch devouring what his other senses could not. Just as at the shoulder, there was a lip where skin gave way almost seamlessly to enchanted metal, and his fingers sought the space between, pressing firmly.

Sydney gave a small cry as Hardin nearly entered him, and he leaned forward unconsciously, arching his back in a way Hardin could not see, but recognized regardless. He knew the way Sydney would have tossed his head, how the muscles of his back must have twisted and tightened. Between those mental images, the increase of pressure from Sydney's hands causing the tips of the blades to dig into his skin, drawing blood instantly, and the hard brush of unmistakable arousal against his abdomen, he had to set his jaw, hold his breath to prevent himself from tumbling over the edge that moment. Indeed, he already felt as if he was falling, uncertain of which way was up and which was down.

It was perhaps more than Sydney had expected from him in this state, for in a desperate attempt to see him even briefly with the Sight, Hardin caught a glimpse of something sharp in Sydney's narrowed eyes - even defensive. There was a smile upon his lips, cunning and dangerous, and as the vision fell apart just as the previous ones had, Hardin knew Sydney had taken it as a challenge.

Sydney did not like to be challenged. Or perhaps, Hardin thought, one might say that he liked to be challenged just a little too much. It had never been said in so many words, but Hardin suspected that was half the reason he had remained in Sydney's favor - and his bed - for so long.

If Hardin provided a challenge, however, it could not be said that he'd ever won. Sydney never failed to disarm him in a flash, and this time was no different. He had drawn back a bit - Hardin could tell by the lessening of the pressure on his chest, though the wounds Sydney had inadvertently given him still stung. His weight shifted again, and then Hardin found cold steel against his temple and his throat. There would be no more wounds given _inadvertently_ , he thought, and he swallowed hard as he braced himself as well as he could, trying to remain motionless despite the anticipation.

Fine hair tickled his cheek as he felt Sydney lean forward, changing position to press a knee between Hardin's thighs, trapping him. "I believe it is now my turn to... look," came the soft whisper, breathy and warm upon his ear, and without any further warning, Hardin felt one claw break the skin at the back of his jaw.

As always, there was a split second of aversion, and it only heightened the excitement of the moment. Hardin could never be sure if it was the pain, the danger, or the nearly profane nature of such an act that made his pulse quicken in such a way. It was _wrong_ , but Sydney made it feel _right_ \- and perhaps that was why it reduced him to gasping breaths and shivers the way it did. That confusing contradiction summed up nearly everything about Sydney, and given how he reacted to Sydney, perhaps it was no wonder that this too affected him so strongly.

The sting of Sydney's touch traveled the path from Hardin's ear down to his chin, not cutting deeply enough that the blood would drip, but careful and methodical, going only deep enough to unmistakably mar the skin. Hardin fought to stay still, but it had been an uphill battle from the start, and soon he found himself nuzzling up against Sydney's finger as though it were the gentle touch of skin and not the hard edge of a blade. The pain grew more severe as he pressed into it, and it wasn't long before the heat of his blood began to trickle down his jawline. Without conscious thought, he raised his head, turning it aside slightly in hopes of preventing any stains upon the sheets or pillow - an absurd notion under the circumstances - but Sydney was better equipped to take care of the problem. Already poised beside Hardin's ear, Sydney leaned in closer, and another sensation of wet warmth joined the first as Sydney's tongue flickered out to taste the blood, caressing Hardin's throat lazily and cleaning the slow trickle away.

That was enough to cause Hardin to writhe beneath him, gasping things that were not quite words, but Sydney was not content to stop yet; following the trail of blood up Hardin's throat to the source, he slowly continued the treatment. In the hazy cocoon of half-sleep and the dizziness of desire, Hardin could not make out the question Sydney murmured against the broken flesh of his jaw, but without waiting for an answer, the mage fastened his parted lips over the wound as his tongue worked at it, pressing urgently.

Whatever question had been asked of him, Hardin couldn't manage anything more than a near-panicked "Ahhhn..." with Sydney's doings overtaking every bit of conscious thought he had. As Sydney's mouth worked its way up his chin, suckling and caressing their way to his lips, Hardin gave in to the overwhelming urge to raise his hips, only to find that he was thrusting against nothing but air. His mouth fell open in a deep moan of frustration, and was instantly filled with Sydney's brutal kiss, tongue pushing deep within.

Nearly choking, Hardin raised his hands to grip Sydney's head, fingers clenching in sweat-damp locks of hair - but instead of pushing him away, he pulled their faces closer still, desperately fighting back the only way he could, by trying to match the kiss Sydney forced upon him. Teeth tore at lips, tongues clashed and delved, until the kiss was all Hardin could comprehend, and he clung to it as if it was his very life.

He had no idea how much later it was that Sydney finally pulled away, leaving him panting and dizzy. His heart racing, he lay flat on the bed, trying to catch his breath as he pressed one palm against his eyes, trying to dispel the feel of the room spinning. "...Gods..." he muttered between rasping breaths. "...What are you... trying to do... to me...?"

He'd gathered his thoughts enough to use the Sight for a split second, just long enough to see Sydney sitting back on his heels, one leg on either side of Hardin's right thigh and looking quite smug. "Does it matter? I believe the question is, do you enjoy it?"

"...No." It was both the truth and a lie. Hardin had never been able to tolerate a lack of control over his own person. Everything else in his life had gone well out of his hands ages ago, and it was all he had left to cling to - and yet that weakness, the feeling of being completely helpless, gave him a terrifying thrill. He had to hold on to some measure of pride, though. "Could you not at least allow me time to get my bearings?"

Sydney's smirk was apparent in the exhalation of his breath in the softest of laughs, nearly silent and yet echoing in Hardin's ears. "Well then, have you gotten your bearings?"

The Dark was obeying him better now - he could keep his scrying from scattering all to pieces after only a few seconds this time, though the sensation of the room spinning had not left him. It gave him a sense of vertigo he'd not felt since his earliest attempts at using his talent, and he abandoned it with a sigh. His more ordinary senses were coming alive again, however - he could smell the blood and sweat, feel the burning of his injured cheek and chin. Somehow, Sydney had managed to rid him of his pants.

He shook his head, still pressing the heel of his left palm against his eye tiredly. "Not yet... just... give me a-"

Naturally, Sydney did not. Hardin was interrupted by Sydney lunging forward again, taking hold of his wrists and pinning them beside his shoulders. He couldn't suppress a gasp of mingled alarm and pleasure, as Sydney slipped the other knee between his thighs as well. "You are not finished yet, are you?" came the whisper of hot breath upon his lips.

Hardin made a quiet sound of shameful distaste as he realized there was already a small pool of stickiness on his stomach - he'd not even realized, for the aching need had not left him. "...Not even close," he managed.

Another puff of hot breath gave away Sydney's silent laughter. "Good, for I've only begun."

Sydney closed the miniscule space that had still remained between their mouths, and they resumed the earlier kiss where they had left off, lips and teeth and tongue caressing roughly, as if they intended to devour each other whole. Always near silent, Sydney swallowed up the deep moans that came from Hardin's throat, muffling them with his own mouth, giving only the softest sighs and murmurs in response. Hardin felt the grip on his wrists vanish as Sydney stretched himself out atop his torso, slipping his cold hands instead beneath Hardin's upper arms to hold him in a loose embrace. Sydney's arousal now pressed firmly against his stomach, and Hardin groaned loudly at the feel of it as his hands lifted to Sydney's shoulders, digging in with his fingertips and drifting down the tattooed skin of his back until he could cup the curves of Sydney's hips again. Taking a deep breath, he gave in again to the overwhelming urge to thrust his hips upwards, pulling Sydney down against him in the same motion, and this time found resistance against Sydney's thighs. Once was not enough, and gradually he worked his pulls and his thrusts into a slow rhythm - but that was not enough either, and they both knew it.

Once again, Sydney broke the kiss they shared, and one arm slipped from beneath Hardin's shoulder, only to rest against his chest a few moments later. "If you are not awake," Sydney's voice murmured teasingly against his throat, "who will take care of this?"

The scent of sandalwood reached Hardin's nose through the stronger smells of sex and blood, and he let loose with one hand to reach for the bottle he knew Sydney held. "I will try," he whispered, his voice unsteady, "because it must be done."

He sensed Sydney's smirk this time, rather than hearing or feeling it. "Must it?"

Sydney was goading him, but at the moment, Hardin didn't care whether or not he was stroking Sydney's ego. "It must."

He blindly fumbled with the stopper for the small bottle, both hands behind Sydney's back, for that was where he wanted his hands, and he could not see to help himself now anyhow. Once open, he managed to do his own part first, sliding a slicked finger between his legs, stroking himself open as Sydney drew back to allow him access; it did not take long, for his body was already very much ready. Then came the part he enjoyed more - readying Sydney.

His hands were beginning to tremble as he poured a small pool of oil into one palm, and the other pressed the bottle against Sydney's hip, trying to place where that palm should go as much as bracing him for the touch. He was not used to doing this blind, and just for an instant, he called upon his talent, so that he would not be groping in the darkness. The Dark, of course, was enjoying itself with his lack of control, and showed him in great detail precisely what he was looking to find. The sight of the smooth shaft, flawless as the rest of its owner, jutting from between Sydney's legs and already slightly damp at the tip, caused him to drop the bottle entirely.

Sydney laughed as the vision broke apart. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Only in part," Hardin muttered, reaching to spread the oil before his concentration was shattered entirely. Sydney's erection twitched at the touch of his hands, and he heard Sydney draw a deep breath as the rest of his body responded likewise. The satisfaction he got from that nearly eradicated his vague annoyance at having spilled the remainder of the oil over his hip and stomach.

"Oh?" Having been readied, Sydney had shifted again; the closeness of his voice said he was leaning forward between Hardin's knees. "What more do you want?"

He knew, of course, but it pleased him to hear it from Hardin's lips, and Hardin had no wish to prolong the matter by playing games. In a sudden burst of inspiration, he rubbed his hands across the spilled oil, and reached up to caress Sydney's chest. "I want what I saw... inside me."

Sydney gasped at the unexpected touch, shivering as Hardin's thumbs brushed over his nipples, traced down his ribs to his sides. "I believe... that can be arranged..." he whispered breathlessly, slipping his arms beneath Hardin's knees as Hardin raised his hips.

Again, the Sight allowed him to see his desire, and from the best possible angles as Sydney positioned himself carefully, pressing experimentally against Hardin's opening. It was a show all for his benefit, no doubt, for often Sydney was far more rough than this.

Yet this was rough too, in its own way, and Hardin gritted his teeth. "...Stop."

The Dark shifted his focus just enough to see Sydney's smirk. "Stop what, exactly...?" he inquired breathlessly, and even backed off slightly.

"...Stop teasing." Ordinarily, Hardin would not have been so forward, but he'd had enough of Sydney's games for one day - in all of the short time he'd experienced of it so far - and he was running out of patience on multiple levels. "...Either do it... or do not."

"And what if I do not?"

Hardin knew better. "You will," he murmured, reaching up to stroke Sydney's chest again, driving home his next words. "It's only a matter of how long you try to hold out..."

He was crossing into dangerous territory, but he'd found that often it was worth it. Indeed this was the case, as he felt Sydney try to stifle a gasp and shift, pausing for a moment that was filled with an ominous silence before he spoke. "...Very bold, for a man who cannot see."

"As you said before... with these hands I see well enough." His words were punctuated with another motion that made Sydney shudder beneath his touch.

As easily as a man with the ability to read hearts might find it to find the best way to coerce his lover into doing just what he wished, the two of them had been together long enough that Hardin, whose talents lay elsewhere, had learned to do the same. There were those who would say that Hardin was manipulated; if asked, he would admit that he was, frequently. However, in the bedroom, it was a game they both played - Sydney with words and visions and the powers the Dark had granted him, and Hardin with warm hands that knew Sydney's weaknesses. They often proved to be one such weakness by their very nature.

This time was no different, and after that involuntary spasm of Sydney's pleasure had passed, his body remained tense, his breath drawn. He knew what Hardin was doing, of course - both of them knew all too well when they were being manipulated. And to both of them, it was frustrating, but also rather intriguing. One more caress of Hardin's fingers, and Sydney let himself give in, but on his own terms.

The pain of the excessively rough penetration was nothing next to the pain of metal claws biting into Hardin's thighs, even as Sydney thrust into him again and again. Hardin was accustomed enough to pain that it meant little to him, especially as with every thrust, Sydney found just the spot within him that made his fingers clench and his breath grow ragged. Although brutal, Sydney's motions were still deliberate and refined - each time pushing a bit further, flirting with the edges of what Hardin could bear.

Knowing that he wouldn't be able to hold out long, Hardin chose to concentrate instead on a retaliation of sorts. The violence of Sydney's near-assault was matched with his own grasping and squeezing, his hands rough as they gripped Sydney's shoulders and jerked him down closer. The Dark, always close to Sydney and always an interested observer when it came to their bedroom activities, could be felt flooding through both their bodies, fueling the desire for pain and pleasure and blood - but Hardin recognized it and fought against the influence, mingling his roughness with warm, lingering touches and gentle caresses. The stark contrast was what seemed to appeal to Sydney most; no one else who shared his bed would have dared to touch him roughly, nor would they have had the nerve to claim true intimacy with one they so worshipped.

Sydney's gasps, though they sounded quiet, were hot and heavy against the sweat on Hardin's face. The clawed hands were forced to abandon Hardin's thighs in favor of balancing himself, and Sydney knew better than to claim Hardin's lips again while the metal came down upon his partner's shoulders - Hardin nearly shouted at the sharp sting of metal sliding across skin and sweat dripping into the wound. His head was thrown back, his body arching up against Sydney's firm stomach in search of relief from pleasure and pain. He couldn't tell if it was the Dark or his own imagination that let him see Sydney kneeling between his parted knees - a body frail in appearance asserting its power and dominance with each purposeful motion, while his own strong body writhed and convulsed helplessly.

Suddenly Sydney inhaled a deep breath and held it; his body trembled and then buried itself as deeply inside Hardin as he could with a final violent thrust. His stomach, taut and slick with sweat, pressed against Hardin's groin, and Hardin needed no visual cues to be overwhelmed himself.

Words of a healing spell were being murmured in the next moment he was consciously aware of, and magic caressed his wounds, soothing and gentle. The pain passed, and still he lay there, as if unconscious.

He could feel breath against his face again, but this time much more controlled. "You've yet to open your eyes, Hardin. Wouldn't you like to see again?"

He shook his head, listless. "I fear what I might see if I opened my eyes, considering the way I feel."

Sydney chuckled, and Hardin felt each short exhalation before Sydney leaned closer to claim his lips. His arms wound around the mage's slender waist as he kissed back, and he reveled in being finally able to hold the invisible, ethereal dream that had taunted him.

That thought caused him to wonder something. "Sydney... am I awake?"

He could feel Sydney's smirk without seeing it. "Does it matter?"

"Not at all."


End file.
